The Flying Slug
by WrenWinterSong
Summary: A brief look at how Horace Slughorn helped Gwenog Jones become the greatest female flyer ever to play Quidditch. Written for Round 12 of the QLFC Season 4 - Score: 9/10.


**Author's Note:** This is written for the Quidditch League Fanfic Competition Round 12: Out of the Ordinary. I am Beater 2 for the Falmouth Falcons, and my genre switch challenge was to write a lighthearted friendship story about Slytherin characters, so I chose Horace Slughorn and Gwenog Jones (who's House is never confirmed, but with her ruthless ambition, how could she not be a Slytherin?). My additional prompts were (style) memoir and (quote) 'It's easy to make a decision if you already know what the outcome will be.' - Armin, _Attack On Titan._ Word Count: 1767

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 _An excerpt from_ _Most Famous Slugs_ _by Horace Slughorn, a memoir that looks back on the most famous witches and wizards while they were young Hogwarts students. Published March 2016._

Chapter 26: Gwenog Jones

As soon as little Gwenog Jones sat upon that stool and landed herself in my House, I knew she would do great things. I almost reconsidered my retirement to stay on and see her through to graduation, but alas, if I had stayed, there would have been another great student to take her place and I never would have left.

Gwenog was special, though. It was only the first week of the school year when I exited a greenhouse after collecting a few ingredients for class and saw Gwenog soaring down the hill faster than I had ever seen a student fly on a school broom before. Rolanda Hooch, Hogwarts' newest hire, shouted and chased after Gwenog with little hope of catching up.

After forty-eight years of teaching, I had seen my fair share of talented flyers, including recent graduate James Potter, but never had I seen such daring in any first year, let alone a girl who barely reached my elbow. She laughed with confidence as she flew over the greenhouse roof, then dived towards the ground beside me. Poor Rolanda clasped a hand over her eyes and missed Gwenog's perfect somersault landing.

She leant against her broom and gave me a challenging stare. "Can we pretend you didn't see me do that?" Gwenog asked in a tone not commonly used towards professors.

I chuckled. "I could, but then I wouldn't be able to give Slytherin twenty points for such a fantastic show."

Gwenog's face did not light up with shocked excitement as any other student's would have, but in what is now common Gwenog Jones fashion, she gave me a smug smile as if she had been expecting that all along. She barely glanced at Rolanda as the flying instructor finally reached us, scolding between pants, "Miss Jones… do you have any idea… how dangerous of a stunt… that was… Ten points from Slytherin... and you are grounded for the rest of the week."

"Then it's a good thing Quidditch tryouts aren't until next week," I said with a wink, and Gwenog awarded me with a conspiratorial grin.

Gwenog didn't get any practice time before tryouts due to her flying lesson stunt, but I had all the confidence in the world that she would be brilliant anyway. There was the matter of a broom, though. Since first years weren't allowed one, I planned on sneaking into the school's broom closet myself to fetch her the best one Hogwarts had, but as I should have known, Gwenog had already taken care of that herself.

On the morning of tryouts, I opened the closet door to find Gwenog weighing two brooms, one in each hand. "I believe the one to your right fits you best," I said.

She glanced at me then back at the brooms, not at all concerned with being caught. "Just what I was thinking," she said, hoisting the chosen broom onto her shoulder and holding the other one out to me. "Were you looking for a broom, professor?"

I chortled as I took the broom and placed it back with the others. "Indeed I was, but not anymore."

She gave me a curt nod before walking by me, her mind already in competition mode with no room for even a smile, but as I closed the door and began poking my wand against the closet's broken lock, she said from the end of the corridor, "Professor, will you be at tryouts today?"

It warmed my heart to hear that question. If Gwenog is any one thing, it is tough, so one must take every small sign of caring to heart. "Of course, my dear, of course."

A smile flashed across her face before she turned and trounced off. I left the broken lock, trusting that someone else would take care of it. I had Quidditch tryouts to get to.

As I took my place in the stands, I noticed they were much emptier than usual. All the students in Slytherin supported the Quidditch team, and most seasons, everyone from all years watched tryouts with as much attention as they did games. The lacking of attendance worried me, and down on the field were only the six current team members, a sixth-year boy named Henry Warrington who stood amongst the rest of them like he was already on the team, and Gwenog, who looked as big as a house-elf up against all those older boys.

Looking back on it now, I realize how small a chance Gwenog had of making the team, and not only because she was a first-year. Slytherin House had seen an all-boys Quidditch team for the past decade. I did not necessarily support this, but Slytherin had never won so many games than they had in those ten years. Who was I to tell them they were doing anything wrong? Well, even if Gwenog hadn't been a girl and even if she hadn't been a first-year, she still had to face the worst circumstance: the team was in need of a Chaser.

Captain of the team, Kenneth Parkinson, tossed Gwenog the Quaffle as Keeper Gerald Flint took to the hoops. Just by looking at the tiny girl, no one could have guessed at how strong of an arm she had, especially to two cocky seventh-years. She raised that Quaffle back behind her head and threw it with such strength it flew as blurry as a Golden Snitch! Poor Flint should have stayed far away from that ball, but he did his best to block it. Unfortunately for him, he flew a little too low and the Quaffle smacked him right between the eyebrows and sent his entire body straight through the hoop.

I'm not usually one to condone such violence, but that was impressive no matter how you looked at it. Of course, I hurried down the stairs and onto the field as quick as I could, but the boys had already carried Flint off towards the castle when I got there. Gwenog leant against her broom, watching the distant team with a determined look. "I made the goal," she said as she tossed the Quaffle towards me. "Warrington didn't even mount his broom. They're idiots if they don't put me on the team."

Well, she did nearly make it on the team. Warrington made Chaser, but with Flint in the hospital wing, the Slytherin team found themselves short a Keeper. Parkinson hated the idea of putting Gwenog on after she'd injured his teammate, but Ramsey Greengrass, the sixth-year Seeker, swayed the other team members—even Warrington—to at least _consider_ what a great asset to the team Gwenog could be if she aimed her ruthlessness at the opposing team. I also won't deny that my gentle nudging in that same direction might have influenced them as well.

Gwenog had practically made the team until Flint heard the news and, with sheer determination, managed to heal himself quick enough to make it to the first game of the season. He showed up to the pitch in his gear and booted Gwenog of her broom.

Now, any sensible witch or wizard who has heard anything at all about the Holyhead Harpies would know never to face off against Gwenog Jones, especially when it comes to Quidditch, but it's easy to make a decision if you already know what the outcome will be. Flint had no way of knowing what his choice would bring about.

Without uttering a single word, Gwenog pointed her wand at Flint's face and turned his nose bright lime green. Again, I think most people will agree this act was as deplorable as it was impressive. Not many eleven-year-olds could pull off such a complex non-verbal Transfiguration. Minerva McGonagall might argue this was simply a case of anger-driven, out-of-control magic made more powerful by being directed through a wand, but she will also admit Gwenog proved to be a top student in her class.

Being a promising student didn't keep little Gwenog out of the detention, though. As Head of Slytherin, I took on the responsibility of her discipline and gave her detention every Sunday for the next two months. She confided in me that she only regretted her actions because it kept her from watching that first game where Flint, clearly still not completely well, experienced such vertigo that he spent most of the game vomiting from the air and missed every single goal. I have never been happier to lose a Quidditch match or oversee a two-month long detention.

Even after retiring from Hogwarts—for the second time—so many years ago, I must still officially state that Gwenog cleaned cauldrons every Sunday morning throughout that October and November, but there are rumors that we were seen on the Quidditch pitch instead. I can neither confirm nor deny these rumors, but I will say that Ramsey Greengrass, as Captain, put her on the team the next year—a fantastic start to my last year before retirement—and noted how much she had improved her game and strengthened her physique into a perfect Beater's body. I will also never forget what she said to me at the end of my retirement party: "Professor Slughorn, you know I would have the made the team anyways, but thanks."

Whether or not you choose to believe the official truth that Gwenog faithfully served each of her detentions or these grapevine rumors that we travelled to the Quidditch pitch instead is completely up to you.

... 

_An excerpt from a_ Daily Prophet _interview by Dennis Creevey with Gwenog Jones in July 2016._

DC: Horace Slughorn's memoir has caused quite a number of controversies for celebrities all over Britain. Are there any claims about you in his book that you would like to discredit?

GJ: You know, I've gotten some angry fan mail—actually, not really _fan_ mail, but you know what I mean—from parents for being a bad role model. I get that all the time, but now they're all mad at me for skipping detentions to go to the Quidditch pitch like it was _my_ idea. It's not my fault Professor Slughorn was smart enough to know that the Keeper had it coming when I Transfigured his nose green. He tried to kick me off the team! Besides, people know me, people know Professor Slughorn, and they also know I give him tickets for any Harpies games he wants. Is anyone really that surprised?


End file.
